My mother disappeared through the front door without another word, the click-clack of her shoes against the stone floor the only sound echoing her departure. I stared at John, my eyes wide. "What the hell did you do to my mom?"

He shrugged. "I find that people are extremely susceptible to the direct approach."

"I'll have to remember that," I said.

John opened his arms. "Come here."

Melting against his chest, I inhaled the scent of the outdoors lingering on his skin. "Sorry she was acting so crazy. She's not usually like that."

"Don't worry about it," he said. "She loves you. And she loves Zach. I'm a stranger."

"Still," I said. "Thanks for tonight. I had a really nice time."

John put a finger under my chin and lifted my face. His eyes blazed under the soft burn of the overhead light. "So did I. Now stop talking and kiss me."

I closed my eyes and the entire world seemed to disappear. As John's lips pressed against mine, it was just the two of us floating in space, the firm stone under our feet falling away. My troubles with Zach, Olivia, and Gabe ceased to exist. There was no Mom or Dad. No Ian hanging his head out the car window making rude noises and yelling for us to get a room. I closed my eyes even tighter, and Ian magically faded into the night with the rest of my worries.

John pulled me closer, molding my body against his. His skin, typically so warm, was unusually cool, but it felt refreshing against the heat and humidity of the night. Lacing my hands around the back of his neck, I twined my fingers in the soft tufts of hair that brushed his collar. I opened myself up to the kiss, feeling at once that my body had slipped away and I'd lost all sense of myself in the intoxicating sensation of his mouth.

The car horn honked, jarring us back to reality.

"Ow!" I said as John nipped my bottom lip with his teeth.

Ian leaned out the car window. "Come on, coz! I'm not getting any younger."

"I'm so sorry," John said to me. "I got caught up in the moment."

"That makes two of us. Is my lip bleeding?"

John tilted my face to the light and pulled my lip down gently with the flat part of his thumb. He shook his head. "Not a mark."

The car's horn blared again.

"You'd better go. If Ian keeps that up, my parents will lock me away for the rest of my life."

"Come on, John!" Ian yelled again. "The night is young, and I've got needs. Take me out to prowl the town."

"I forgot how much babysitting he requires," John said with a groan. He rested his forehead against mine. "Dream of me tonight."

I laughed and brushed the tip of my nose against his. "Whatever you say."

**********

That night, I dreamed of a garden.

Full-headed dahlias with colorful blossoms as big as my fist; the slender forms of bell-shaped foxglove dangling from long, slender stalks; clusters of vibrant blue and pink hydrangea; a bed of blood-red poppies . . .

And there, a single thistle—a tuft of dense purple adorning a bulb of thorns in regal splendor with spiky spindles, like the pointed canines of some ferocious beast protruding along its stiff spine.

Reaching to pluck the offending weed from where it had invaded the roses, my fingers hovered inches from the spiny stalk when a voice cried out: "Don't touch it!"

I turned to find John staring down at me, a look of caution on his face.

"Leave it," he said, his voice commanding. I drew my hand back at once.

But when I turned to the thistle again, Ian was standing in its place. His lips parted in a smile, revealing a set of elongated canines that tapered at the ends into razor-sharp points.

My eyes flew open, a scream caught in my throat. I stared at the sphere of light on my ceiling, cast upward by the dim glow of the nightlight stuck in the corner outlet. I had been afraid of the dark for as long as I could remember, never completely growing out of the fear that monsters lurked in the shadowed corners of my room.

Always watching.

My heart fluttered in my chest like the wings of a hummingbird, and for a moment I couldn't recall what my dream had been about. But then the memory of it slowly came back to me, a trickle of seemingly incongruent images that fit together to create one disturbing picture.

Throwing back the covers, I rose from my bed and padded across the darkened room to the French doors leading to the balcony. I pulled them open and slipped out into the night, not knowing what time it was, but feeling in the relative quiet and stillness of the surrounding houses that it was much too early to be up for the day. I couldn't go back to sleep, not with the vision of Ian's dagger-like teeth so fresh in my mind. I sat down with my back pressed against the wall and tucked my knees to my chest, hugging my arms around them.

Dreaming of Ian as a vampire was irrational and silly, and yet so very terrifying. I tried to think of some logical explanation for the dream, but I couldn't come up with an answer. He'd been nothing but nice, if not a little obnoxious, during the few hours we'd spent together, and yet my subconscious mind had made him a predator. Was it my gut warning me of danger? Ian was a little strange, but no more so than half the people I knew.

Shivering as the night chill swept against my naked arms, I headed back to bed, silently berating myself for being ridiculous. There were no such things as vampires. Still, Ian's parting words as John and I were saying goodnight came back to me: The night is young, and I've got needs. Take me out to prowl the town.

"You're being stupid," I muttered under my breath. "You're seventeen, not seven." And yet I couldn't help envisioning Ian sinking his teeth into that waitress's neck from the restaurant. I closed and locked the doors against the night, and whatever might be out there.

"Vampires sleep in coffins during the day," I said, climbing into bed and burrowing under the covers. "They burn in the sun. They can't enter a house uninvited. They're immortal. They have sharp teeth and drink blood."

I whispered a litany of what I knew, or thought I knew, about vampires—a hodge-podge of tropes from books and movies.

"They're ugly and scary." Well, not all of them are ugly and scary, I thought. Some of them are pretty hot. I laughed, the sound of it too loud in my otherwise dark and silent room. Having successfully freaked myself out, I pulled the covers completely over my head and scrunched my knees to my chest, willing morning to come faster.

Ian obviously wasn't a vampire. I'd seen him awake during the day and standing in the full light of the sun. His teeth might be the tiniest bit crooked, but they definitely weren't pointed. And he drank wine, not blood.

My pulse quickened as it occurred to me that the wine had been red. Maybe it was blood he'd been drinking. Then again, what vampire ate Indian food? Surely there'd been garlic in the dish, and didn't garlic repel vampires? Although . . . I hadn't actually witnessed him eating the food. He'd spent the entire time pushing it around his plate. And then there was the comment he'd made about not being picky about who he hooked up with as long as they were warm.

Reaching out my hand from underneath the covers, I fumbled for my cell where I'd left it charging on the nightstand. Argument or not, I needed my best friend.

Sorry about the fight. Need to talk. 911.

I didn't expect a response so soon, but Olivia's reply came almost immediately.

I'm sorry 2. What's wrong?!

Why r u up?

Why r U up?

I think Ian is a vampire.

Who?

John's cousin. I think he's a vampire.

LOL!!! U R CRAZY!

I know.

Call me.

I dialed Olivia's cell, and she answered on the first ring. "Omigod, Blake. I've missed you. Remind me never to get mad at you again."

"I've missed you, too. Can we make a pact never to fight? It's such a waste of time."

"Deal. Now, what were you saying about this Ian guy being a vampire? First of all, are you and John officially together?"

"I don't know. Maybe. We've gone out a couple of times. I like him."

"Great. So tell me about the vampire."

"It's nothing," I said. "I'm being crazy." I realized how even more absurd my wild idea sounded when admitting it out loud to someone else.

"You think?"

"I had a nightmare that John's cousin was a vampire, and then I started remembering all of these weird things he said when we went out together."

"Such as?"

It felt like the inside of a pressure cooker under the covers, so I came out of hiding and switched on the bedside lamp. The clock on my desk said it was nearly four in the morning. Taking a deep breath, I told Olivia about the red wine at the concert and Ian not eating food at the restaurant, as well as his non-biased opinion regarding his partner's sexual orientation as long as their blood ran hot.

Olivia laughed. "That hardly makes him a vampire, Blake. All it means is he's open-minded." And then she laughed again. "If he's a vampire, does that make John one, too?"

"What?"

"Doesn't it make sense to assume that John could be one, too? Birds of a feather, and all that. They're cousins. Maybe it's genetic."

"That never occurred to me."

"It might explain why he keeps to himself so much at school. He's like the mysterious Edward Cullen from Twilight. He doesn't sparkle, does he?"

I paused before responding. "You're making fun of me, aren't you? You don't really believe that John and his cousin are vampires."

Olivia laughed. "Go back to sleep, you dummy. I'll talk to you in the morning."

**********

After tossing and turning for a miserable hour, I fell into yet another uneasy dream. It started pleasant enough, with John and me doing things my parents would absolutely disapprove of. Somewhere along the way, however, the dream took a rather alarming turn for the worse, ending with John sinking his teeth into my jugular.

After that, I slept soundly with no recollection of dreaming at all, and I woke up later that morning to a light, repetitive tapping. It took me a few minutes to climb fully out of the depths of deep sleep. I struggled to a sitting position and rubbed my bleary eyes, thinking I'd only imagined the sound.

Tap, tap, tap.

Looking in the direction of the French doors where the sound was coming from, I startled at the sight of John peering in, immediately recalling the dream and conversation I'd had with Olivia in the wee hours of the morning.

"Can I come it?" he called through the glass.

I hesitated, but I finally got out of bed to open the door. "What are you doing here?"

"Do you always sleep so late?" he said, coming inside and closing the doors behind him.

Shoving my arms into my robe, I twisted my hair up into a messy knot. "It's not that late," I said, scanning the room for my slippers. "And I didn't sleep so well. How'd you climb up there anyway?"

"With my Iron-Man strength." I could hear the grin in his voice, even as I was on my hands and knees groping under my bed for my shoes.

"Looking for these?" I glanced up to see my slippers dangling on the fingers of his outstretched hands. "They were under your desk. Bad dream?"

I snatched them and shoved my feet inside. "I guess you could say that."

His grin widened. "What, was I a horrible kisser or something?"

A slow blush crept up my neck and into my cheeks, and I quickly turned away and began pulling up the covers of my bed, just so I'd have an excuse not to look at him.

"So you did dream about me!" John exclaimed. "Give me the details."

"You're a great kisser." The words escaped my lips before I realized what I was saying, and I clamped my hand over my mouth.

"If I'm such a great kisser, what was so bad about the dream?"

I shook my head. "Uh-uh. I'm not saying anything else. You'll think I'm crazy."

"I know crazy," John said. "You're not it."

I began pulling out clean clothes for the day. I needed to take a shower, but I didn't know what to do with John. Both my parents were at work, and I wasn't sure what the proper protocol was for showering with a guy in the house while one's mom and dad weren't home. Making sure to lock the door was a start; asking him to leave and come back later was probably better.

"Uh . . . could you possibly wait downstairs?"

"Why do I get the feeling you're deliberately being evasive?"

"Because I am," I said. "It's nothing. Trust me, it's dumb."

"I doubt it. I want to know." He grabbed my hands, refusing to let go. His eyes simmered with mischief. "Tell me what you dreamed."

"I dreamed you were a vampire."

John's eyes widened. At first, his face was nothing more than a blank canvas, but then his lips began to tremble. At least he had the decency not to actually laugh.

I rolled my eyes and pulled away, heading for the bathroom. "See?" I said, calling over my shoulder. "I told you it was dumb."

**********

I found John at the kitchen table a little while later with a bowl of strawberries in front of him, a pile of discarded hulls pushed off to the side. He plucked one from the dish, held it in front of his face for examination, and then expertly removed the top with a paring knife. He plopped the remainder in his mouth and carefully chose another, repeating the process.

"I'm having cereal," I said. "Want some?" I could feel John's eyes on me as I rummaged through the cupboards for a bowl and the box of Corn Flakes.

"I'm good. Thanks."

"Slice me a few of those?" I took my supplies to the table and went to the fridge for the milk.

"I can make you some eggs or a sandwich," I offered. I tried telling myself that if John were a vampire, he wouldn't be eating strawberries. And yet strawberries were the only food I'd ever seen him eat.

"I'm not hungry. I ate before I came over."

"We've got ice cream in the freezer." I craned my head over my shoulder and grinned. "There's always room for ice cream, right?"

"No, thanks. I'm full."

He pushed the bowl of strawberries aside, minus the two he'd already sliced for my cereal and artfully fanned out on a napkin. Then he brushed the discarded hulls into his hand and got up to toss them into the compost bin.

"So what's Ian up to today?" I said, settling into a chair and filling my bowl with cereal.

"Not much."

We were quiet as I ate my breakfast. John took the liberty of washing not only the paring knife but the rest of the dirty dishes in the sink. He didn't seem to mind the silence, and neither did I. But after a few moments, during which I was trying unsuccessfully not to think about vampires, John turned around.

"I want to know more about this dream of yours," he said, drying his hands on a dishtowel.

"I already told you," I said, spooning another bite into my mouth. "I dreamed you were a vampire. It was silly."

John sat down across from me. "Why would you dream something like that?"

I rolled my eyes. "It's a long story."

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest to get more comfortable. "I've got nothing but time."

Realizing he wasn't about to let it go, I relented. "Well, first I dreamed I was in this garden. There was this flower—a thistle, right?—and I was about to pick it and toss it aside when you yelled at me not to touch it. And then when I turned around, Ian was there."

John's forehead wrinkled. "I thought you dreamed of me?"

A shiver ran up my spine at the memory of Ian's wide mouth and sharp teeth. I rubbed my hands over my arms, as though to ward off a chill. "I did. That was later."

"Okay," John said, leaning forward. "Go on."

"Ian smiled, but it was, like, this really eerie kind of smile. And he had pointy fangs."

"Like a vampire," John supplied helpfully.

I nodded. "He lunged at me and that's when I woke up. I was completely freaked out by then so I called Olivia. One thing led to another, and she suggested that if Ian is a vampire, you might be, too."

"So Olivia put this crazy notion in your head."

"Yeah. I guess so."

Looking down at the table, John traced a line of grain in the wood with the tip of his thumb, momentarily absorbed in his thoughts. "And yet you dreamed that Ian was a vampire before that."

I absently stirred the milk in the bowl with the tip of my spoon. "Yeah."

"But why?"

"I told you, I don't know."

"There has to be a reason," John said, not meeting my eyes.

Rising, I took my dishes to the sink where I dumped them into the soapy water before turning to face John again. I'd deliberately left out the part of my conversation with Olivia, as well as my own private thoughts, explaining why I thought Ian could be a vampire. If vampires existed. Which they didn't.

I'd left my hair to air dry, and I twisted the damp, curly mass over my shoulder before coiling it like a snake at the crown of my head. Plucking a stray pencil off the counter, I ran it through the heart of the knot to hold it in place.

"Why are you so interested anyway?" I said at last. "It was just a dream."

John shrugged, his face a mask of indifference. "Morbid curiosity, I guess. Doesn't everyone like a good vampire story?"

"Personally, I think it started with that comment Ian made about the kind of people he, um, you know . . ." I let my voice trail off, hoping he would fill in the blank.

John paddle-wheeled his hand when I refused to go on. "No, I don't know." And yet the expression on his face said otherwise.

"The kind of people he chooses to, um . . . date?"

John smiled, a leering sort of grin in which he showed an entire mouth of very white teeth. And none of them pointy. "You mean the kind of people he has sex with?"

My cheeks flushed and I cleared my throat. "Yes. That's exactly what I mean."

"How does Ian's sexual preference make him a vampire?"

Scratching my temple, feeling absurdly self-conscious, I tried to explain. "If I recall, Ian said he isn't picky as long as the people he's with are warm-blooded. Or something like that."

John tossed his head back and laughed. "And from that one comment, you managed to make Ian into a vampire. Man, he is going to love that."

I advanced on him. "Please don't say anything to him about this conversation!"

John's arm shot out and he snagged me by the wrist, yanking me forward off my feet so that I stumbled into his lap. "Why not?"

I struggled to get away, but John wouldn't release me. Pulling me against his chest, he wrapped his arm around my waist in a vise, the fingers of his free hand finding purchase in the space between my ribs so that I was left gasping for breath as he tickled me.

"Stop! I'm going to pee my pants. Seriously . . . Stop!"

John let go at once, and I bolted from his lap to the other side of the room. We were both laughing.

"Come to my house tonight," John said. "You can see for yourself that Ian is not a vampire."

Rising, he advanced slowly to where I was standing with my back pressed against the counter, a false sense of protection against his roving fingers. He dipped his head to mine and began leaving a trail of kisses along the line of my jaw.

"What about you?" I said, my voice trembling under the warmth of his touch. "How will you prove you're not a vampire?"

Lips curling into a smile against my cheek, he bent his mouth to the curve of my neck. His teeth closed against the beating pulse of my heart under the thin veil of skin, but not hard enough to cause pain or to draw blood. Depositing a soft kiss where his teeth had been only seconds before, he gave me my answer.

"Who's to say I am not?"

*****

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